


The World Is Quiet Here

by chucklingChemist



Series: Alternian Snapshots [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Egregious Usage of VFD References, Gen, mentions of bullying, no canon characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 17:16:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17564687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucklingChemist/pseuds/chucklingChemist
Summary: There's only so much abuse a troll can take from his young peers before they decide it's enough. Maybe society encourages people to react violently to such abuse, but Dontoc?He ran.





	The World Is Quiet Here

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of moving an awful lot of fantroll oneshots. Who knows how long this'll all take
> 
> If you wanna read all of them as it is, go ahead and go to chuckling-chemist.tumblr.com, since they're sitting there anyway!

Dontoc ran.

This was the third night in a row in classes his classmates taunted him. The third night his classmates drove him to tears for choosing to speak up against his instructor and question the hemospectrum. The third night they tormented him, stealing his pens, notebooks, and even the instructor confiscating his copy of _Unabridged and Unedited Wiggler’s Tales To Inspire Positive Feelings For Young Trolls_. His own fault for the final one (reading in class in lieu of learning about military history was, he supposed, rightly frowned upon), but it doesn’t change the tears pricking his eyes or the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, or remove the smell of paint from his suit and skin from an “accident” that happened the other day conducted by the class (even after several showers).

And worst of all, it was because he finally decided to do something. In previous sweeps his classmates had been cruel, certainly. Only weak trolls like common gutter trash chose not to fight. He must’ve been weak. And if he was going to show one basic decency and not cull one on sight for _daring_ to step foot in their classroom, free and alone, he must want to be one and should be treated as such. So instead of fighting, he detached from them. Ignored them. It succeeded to some degree and they slowly forgot about him (aside the occasional slip-up and talk of his degenerate of an ancestor), but becoming a social pariah by your fourth sweep doesn’t make you happy. By the next conversation of his Informer Duskfire and how hopeful they are he’ll one day take up the torch in the Imperious Inquisition, he argued back. Asked why he needed to follow the footsteps of a troll that he only arguably was “related” to. Questioned why ancestry so was so important to highbloods, because lowbloods - he couldn’t call them gutterbloods without feeling dirty in a way he couldn’t explain - certainly didn’t care. Why should they?

It only got worse from there. Opinions he bubbled for the past two sweeps came pouring out. He cared again. Publicly. Still a pariah, but now they remembered how he got there in the first place.

In hindsight, not his brightest idea.

So he ran. Ran out of his school feeding, right out of his classes. It’s not like they cared anyway. Sindaria was so safe for seadwellers, there was never a fear of danger, and it’s not like Alternia worried much about society’s elite endangering themselves or others. And being seadwellers, they expected him to fight back if he experienced a problem with another student….even if your fighting prowess or willingness to fight was nihl, instructors never stepped in to reel unruly, spoiled trolls. It builds character, they told him.

He ran to the one safe place he could think of in this chaotic, gargantuan, obnoxious city. He needed peace, something he’d never get at the school. He needed safety, something he never really felt at his hive, with his missing lusus and anxiety constantly making him think he wasn’t alone. And he needed quiet.

Far away from his elegant school, Dontoc ran to a small library in a far-off corner of the city.

It was an easy library to miss. There were no fancy adornments, unlike the other libraries in Sindaria. Just standard colors and a small, hanging sign indicating something existed there at all. And because of that, it was an easier library to escape to.

He threw the singular, plain door open and slammed it with just as much fervor, the sound dulled against gray carpets and aging books. He didn’t even make it to one of the marble tables; rather, his back fell against the door as he sat on the floor. The tears that he fought to stay in his eyes fell freely, safe from any possibility of his schoolmates finding him. His fins drooped as whole body shook from the sobs. Or maybe he was shivering. He couldn’t tell.

“Hello?” Footsteps, light and soft, came from the back. “Can I help you?”

His heart stopped, breath caught in his throat. He had forgotten about the librarian. He fumbled around his pockets to pull out a violet handkerchief, quickly drying his eyes.

“Ah…ah….n-no I am, I am–”

Too late. The librarian, a jadeblood in a long skirt and white dress shirt rushed over to him and in a flash, he found her sitting in front of him, green eyes and sharp fangs staring right at him. Her horns were irregular: the right one hooked upward while the other curved downwards. He could make out her symbol as a repeated loop, what appeared to be a fish with two long fins pointed upwards along the waistband of the skirt.

Her smile faded for a second as her gaze traveled down his suit. Judging him, no doubt. Eyes glassy, dried pale violet streaks still painting his face, hair sticking up worse than usual, probably smelling of paint. “Oh no. I did not realize this was a sad occasion. Are you okay? Would you like some tea?”

Dontoc shook his head, having to take a deep, shaky breath before words could even come out. “Everything is… everything is–”

“Well I find, when everything’s went wrong, a good book, a necessary key and a spot of tea always helps,” she said pleasantly. “You are the boy here who read the Grimdark Narrator’s Tales, yes?”

Dontoc swallowed thickly, unable to answer. The last answer was hard enough. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please, don’t be alarmed. I don’t mean to collect any fees for my book being wrongfully confiscated by a poor teacher.”

He looked back up quizzically, but she continued softly, “I’m sure you’ll get it again one night. Which story was the one you enjoyed?”

He paused, forcing his breath to steady enough to give some kind of answer. “The…. _The Wish-Giving Witch_ ,” he choked out.

“Yes, that one.” There was a warm squeeze of his shoulder and she stood up, walking away from him and toward a desk sitting past an archway he had never seen before denoting the entrance versus the library proper with _The World is Quiet Here_ ornately enscripted in dark wood. Dontoc didn’t follow, both unsure if he was supposed to and if he could even walk currently. “An interesting choice. A traveling nobleman visits a witch, hoping to have his wish granted, ignoring what society told him about the dangers. For he wishes to make the judgement alone. Even though he doesn’t get what he wanted, he returns anyway for he enjoys the company. And eventually stays and trains under her, ultimately gaining what he wished for: true companionship.”

He nodded. “And magic,” he added quietly, cheeks burning. It sounded childish to say - he was five sweeps now, he knew magic wasn’t real - but it didn’t change the truth to the statement.

“And magic.” He heard a breezy laugh from her desk over top quiet clinks of glass and rummaging of paper. “Yes, magic certainly is quite the draw for us mundane trolls without psychic abilities. I thought you liked the witch too though?”

“Mmhmm.” He pulled his knees close together, resting his chin on top. “I do. I…” he paused, looking up to her. “I relate to someone so isolated.” Tears pricked his eyes once more at the thought. He didn’t bother drying them.

“As one would.” She opened up a drawer and rummaged through it. “And yet, she’s a landdweller.”

“It makes….it makes a difference?” His voice sounded steadier as he spoke

“To some, yes. They feel relating to a landdweller means you must want to be one, not you can merely empathize.” She shook her head. “Though many here would disagree, of course.”

“Idiocy, I am sure,” he muttered.

“To some degree, sure,” she agreed. “I won’t doubt for some of them general idiocy plays a factor. But I do think ignorance - willful or otherwise - is more at play.”

He looked up in confusion right as she turned around to glance at him. She gave him another kind, fanged smile.

“You know, I have yet to meet a true idiotic seadweller. Ignorant in some fashion or another, but not stupid. Stupid trolls are only a danger to themselves, rarely others.” She paused and hummed. “Though maybe that’s because I run a library.”

“Perhaps.”

“Some even like you. Bright-eyed and well-read. They find themselves here somehow.”

There was a minute of silence, though if it was silence Dontoc wished for or not he couldn’t say. He watched her as she poured a glass of tea and place it on a white tray next to several pieces of silver he swore he didn’t see previously.

“I did not ask for tea,” he said carefully as she took the tray, walking up to him. He couldn’t remember if he did ask for tea or not, not truly. The whole night up to this moment felt more like a nightmare than anything else.

She placed the tray in front of him. While there was no sugar bowl nor teapot present on the tray, two green cups of dark tea sat next to a sealed envelope with only his symbol on it, two silver spoons and a violet notebook with a loose, yellowing piece of paper folded inside and purple pen laid overtop. “No, but a distraught troll in a library should have some kind of comfort.”

“A sanctuary,” he remarked.

“If you wish to call it that,” she said.

He nodded and took the teacup, letting the warmth fill his hands. “What…you said there were others?”

“Of course. Sindaria didn’t deserve them.” Softer, she added, “It doesn’t deserve you either. In a world governed by corruption and arrogance, it can be difficult to stay true to your philosophical and literary principles.”

Another nod. Even now, it was easier than speaking. Instead, he just took a sip of the tea. Bitter, impossibly so, and sharp against his tongue. He only needed a sip to know he needed no more.

She chuckled in amusement, stood up and started sauntering to the back shelves. “You deserve better, you know,” she called out.

Dontoc set the teacup down, shivering as the pleasant heat left him. “Where would I go? Sindaria is…” he trailed off. No. That was wrong. It sounded wrong. His hive was here, yes, but Sindaria still felt foreign to him after nearly six sweeps there, even knowing all the shortcuts, libraries and coffee shops. It wasn’t home. It would never be home.

He looked at the envelope. It did have his symbol. It was unlikely such a letter was supposed to go to anyone else. And if it did, well…it didn’t now.

He picked it up gingerly, deftly breaking the generic seal used for all seadweller-to-seadweller mail and pulled out a shiny, silver-colored key wrapped in a piece of paper that only had “ _from a friend_ ” written in an untidy pink scrawl. The ornate bow on the end came out to the shape of his symbol: a circle with a line going through it. Two dolphins made the circle, touched tip to tail in an infinite jump towards the other.

“Is this from you?” he asked the librarian, not looking up. No answer. She was no longer even visible. With a soft sigh, he pocketed the key and took the violet notebook. It was small, but not so small to be useless. Quite functional, actually. Easy to slip into a satchel, or keep in his hands to take notes. As he flipped it open, the paper fell out onto the tray. Aside from that and another inscription of his symbol on the inside cover, though, the notebook was empty aside from the paper. Something else meant for him, it seemed. He quietly set it next to him for now - too big to be pocketed, but he didn’t want to forget it.

And the piece of yellowing paper inside showed a two story mansion alone on an island in stunningly good condition - though with the age of the paper he couldn’t imagine how it looked now - with numbers written on the side next to the same line through a circle as before. Coordinates. Undoubtedly connected to the key in his pocket, which likely belonged to him….for some reason. The librarian’s words echoed in his head. This was his opportunity. He’d be foolish not to take it.

“Ah…thank you,” he called out into the air as he slipped the paper and pen in his pocket. “For helping.”

There was no answer, yet it didn’t feel unexpected. The librarian did have a job of her own. With a slow, steady breath, he tucked the notebook under his arm and stood up. His legs shook, and he used the door for support, but the librarian was right. He needed to leave Sindaria. Now.

It was time for Dontoc to go home.


End file.
